An Unexpected Sin by Sarah Ballance

of those stern faces would erupt into cheers at the time of the execution.
    Hot tears blurred her vision and burned trails down her cheeks. Though it was a terrible sin, Anne fervently wished for one of them to be next on the gallows before another innocent life was lost.
    Anne had hoped that Prudence—and the merchant before her—might be mistaken about the hanging, but it was clear from the gathered crowd that the announcement had been made. She could only hope the mistake was in naming Elizabeth, but the crowd’s whispers seemed to confirm the terrible news. Elizabeth Burroughs . The name was repeated again and again amongst the gathered.
    “It cannot be true,” Prudence whispered. “What are we to do? Elizabeth has never consorted with the devil. She has committed no crime. Not witchcraft or any other.”
    “We cannot do anything.” The words came in quiet sorrow, for no matter how much Anne wanted to shout Elizabeth’s innocence and proclaim her a kind, gentle soul, doing so would only bring the accusations to her door. What was the cold, cruel place Salem had become? So many things were wrong with a place where neighbors could not defend neighbors and the accusations of a few were valued over the professions of many.
    She did not have long to ponder, for shortly thereafter a commotion arrived.
    In the turmoil, Anne watched, heartsick, as Elizabeth was led to the gallows. Among cries of “witch!” from the observers were cruel admonishments—words that in no way reflected the kind young woman who would die that day. When the rope was positioned around Elizabeth’s neck, verily the noose tightened around Anne’s own throat. What happened thereafter existed in a somber blur. The only sensations snapping clearly from the haze were the shouts of the crowd as the rope tightened, followed by the crack of wood when Elizabeth’s body weighted the noose.
    Prudence let forth a choked sob at the sight of their friend swinging from the rope.
    Anne could scarcely breathe for her sorrow. Elizabeth had wanted to marry and raise children—to be a proper goodwife with a well-kept, welcoming home full of babes and a bountiful garden. She had long dreamed of the man whom she would marry. He would be strong, she had said, and a farmer, just like her own father. He would adore Elizabeth, wanting for no other.
    Verily, he would look at her the way Josiah looked at Anne.
    Suddenly angry, Anne turned from Prudence’s embrace. Doing so, she caught sight of Elizabeth’s parents, her mother nearly to the ground sobbing and screaming her bitter sorrow at the loss of her child. Elizabeth’s father seemed absent in his comfort, for his attention was not on his wife, but directed toward the gray horizon. Rain began falling with new earnest, and Anne cried with the sky.
    Elizabeth had been denied the chance to live, but Anne still had hers.
    And no one—not even her mother with her expectations for propriety—would take that from her.
    …
    Josiah did not see Anne again in the house that afternoon. He wondered where she was, but he remained preoccupied by the old woman’s pronouncement of his surname. He longed to ask her identity, but did not feel comfortable asking anyone but Anne, and she was nowhere to be found. Still, his curiosity over her whereabouts did not turn to great concern until much later when he heard Susannah Scudder share terse words with her husband. She must have been worried, for she began the conversation despite Josiah’s presence in the room. Nevertheless, he sought to make himself small so as not to distract her from her speech.
    “She left the kneading!” the goodwife proclaimed, as if the simple abandonment was mired in great sin. “And in this weather!”
    George sighed, though his voice remained gentle. “Anne has a strong head, wife. Worry not for her.”
    “How can you be without concern? She takes to the road, never concerned for the dangers of a girl alone in travels. There are men who would